


It hit me like a lightning bolt

by BandanaBanana28



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Attempt at some sort of humor, Best Friends, Coming Out, Fetus feels, First Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Prom, Short, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 12:41:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14915577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BandanaBanana28/pseuds/BandanaBanana28
Summary: “Want to go back inside?” Louis asks him.No, Harry doesn’t. He wants Louis to take his hand and pull him out of here. Maybe to his used, run-down car, where they would get inside and start driving to some unknown destination. Go nowhere and at the same time everywhere, with the windows rolled down and music drifting through the air, getting entangled in their wind-ruffled hair.And then they would kiss and it would feel like freedom and childhood and growing up and shared memories and everything that is sweet in the world.Or Louis would stop the car, hold out his hand with a smile, and ask, “Hey, Hazza. Wanna dance with me?”In his imagination, Harry takes his hand, palm against palm, fingers slotting into place like puzzle pieces. The thought of dancing with Louis sends an ache through his chest.But instead, he just gives Louis, his Lou, a small smile and says, “Yeah, sure.”Or the one in which Harry realises he is in love with his best friend which might just destroy (and possibly save) everything.





	It hit me like a lightning bolt

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys!
> 
> So, I really don't know why I wrote this. It just kind of happened, I guess ;)  
> Actually, the reason I wrote it is because I wanted to write something with fetus Louis in it. (That's a good excuse, right?)
> 
> Sorry if it's a complete mess....
> 
> Aaaaanywayy, I'm gonna stop babbling now and let you (hopefully) enjoy this fic! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, love you! :)

The realisation comes suddenly, hits him like an oncoming train, taking the air out of his lungs. It feels like a lightning bolt.

It comes in lunch break after sixth period, when Harry is walking to their usual spot on the grass next to the school, bordering a small cemetery. He walks up to his friends already sitting there, and stands at the corner of the school building for a few seconds, watching them.

Niall is throwing grapes at Liam who stole a few of his fries. Zayn is sitting next to them, nibbling at his sandwich, his nose buried in his English text book. They gave up on teasing him about his relentless love for the subject years ago. And then there’s Louis, spitting out the stones of the cherries he is eating, trying to get them as far as possible.

And that takes Harry back to the day they first met. Louis was already loud and bossy back then, in first period, every kid in their school wrapped around his tiny finger from the first moment on. Everyone wanted to be his friend, was hungry for his attention. But somehow, for some strange reason, Louis chose Harry. Harry, the quiet, shy boy with chubby cheeks and a head full of tousled dark curls who was always nibbling on his bottom lip, watching the world through his eyelashes, head bent down. Louis just walked up to him, held out his hand, and said, “Hi, I’m Louis. Do you want to see who can spit a cherry stone further away?”

And that was that. From that moment on, it was always Louis and Harry, Harry and Louis. The two of them against the rest of the world. If you wanted Louis for something, you also got Harry and if you wanted Harry for something, you also got Louis (the prior being more likely). Now, ten years later, it’s still like that. But in this one instant, while Harry watches his friends on the grass, spring sun washing everything in a soft gold light, everything changes. Or maybe nothing does. Because it’s all the same, a day like every other, but Harry feels like his world had just been spun around, turned on its head.

Maybe it was there all along, this love for Louis Tomlinson, his best friend, his partner in crime, or maybe it just came overnight, creeping into his mind, and his heart, and his veins while he was sleeping, buzzing there like electricity.

No. It has probably always been there, pushed down into some part of his mind where it was easy to ignore, hoping it would just go away. But of course it didn’t, and this moment, however ordinary it might is, makes all of these feelings bubble up, breaking free like a volcanic eruption, or the exploding of fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

_I’m in love with Louis Tomlinson._

At some point of the way, from racing each other on their bikes to see who was home faster, to playing video games on the couch, to secretly drinking beer in the park, Harry fell in love with his best friend.

He probably should have known, since he treasured every moment with Louis like something precious, every laugh of his caused by Harry feeling like the biggest victory, every little touch and glance an adventure. Yes, he definitely should have known. Every small brush of Louis' skin on his burned, every smile made his stomach tingle.

When they were fifteen they went to a pool party by Louis’ friend Stan. When Louis took off his shirt, revealing that golden skin of his stomach underneath that Harry had seen so many times before, still made him erect in his own bathing trunks. He tried convincing himself that it was just from seeing all those girls in bikinis around them, but that method stopped working when it happened again. This time it was just him and Louis, sitting on his living room couch, watching some action movie. Louis’ leg brushed Harry’s like it had done countless times before, but this time, Harry’s breath hitched in his throat and his pants tightened significantly once more. Yeah, he was definitely gay.

But Harry still managed to talk himself into believing he wasn’t in love with Louis, because he couldn’t be. You can’t be in love with your best friend. Especially if that friend could never feel the same way about you. But that was over now, Harry accepts it in right that instant, that he is definitely in love with Louis. He feels sick.

It is in that moment that Liam spots him standing at the corner of the school building and calls him over. “Haz! How was your biology test?”

Harry can feel his hands shaking and quickly puts them into the pockets of his worn-out jeans.  
He takes a deep breath and slowly walks over to his friends, everything painfully normal. He forces a smile to his face. “Hey.”

He sits down on the grass next to them and packs out his lunch consisting of a sandwich his mother made for him this morning, But before he can take a bite, Louis snatches it from his hand and stuffs a big part into his mouth. “Sorry,” he says around the piece of bread. “I’m still hungry.”

Harry avoids his eyes and just stares at the ground. He can’t look at him. “’S okay,” he says to the ground. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

“Well, someone’s in a bad mood today. Did your biology test really go that bad?” Louis asks, grinning.

“I told you, it’s nothing!” Harry snaps, and shoots Louis an angry look. He can feel heat rise to his cheeks and quickly looks away again. He can still see the confused look on Louis’ face, though, his brows furrowed.

“Okay, jeez, sorry.” Louis puts up his hands. “Didn’t know you were on your period, Hazza.” Harry bites back another annoyed response, and instead lays on his stomach, staring at the emerald green spring grass.

“Speaking of periods,” Liam says, obviously trying to avoid an unnecessary fight. “Did you finally ask Eleanor to go prom with you? She really wants you to, you know? Everyone knows she’s had a crush on you since fifth grade. It’s getting ridiculous at this point that the two of you still aren’t together.”

Harry’s jaw tightens. _Eleanor_. Pretty, perfect, popular, sure-to-become-prom-queen-Eleanor. Eleanor, who Louis will ask to go to prom with her, who will kiss him, and be his girlfriend, just like everyone always said. Harry stubbornly keeps his eyes fixed on a ladybird crawling up a blade of grass. He tries counting the spots on its red wings, pretending to be oblivious to the conversation happening next to him.

“Don’t know,” Louis mutters.

“But why not?” Niall objects. “She’s really hot. If you don’t ask her out soon, I don’t know how long she’ll wait for you. There are a lot of boys she could have, Lou, to be honest, I really don’t know why she still wants you.” _Harry can_.

He doesn’t understand how someone _wouldn’t_ want Louis as a date to the prom. Just the thought of Louis picking him up at his house, telling him how pretty he looks, dancing with Louis to a slow, cheesy, horrible song, holding his hand- kissing him, makes Harry’s stomach feel like it just dropped out of his body.

The ladybird fails on his way up the blade and drops to the ground, where he struggles on his back, small feet desperately kicking the air. Harry feel a strange sort of kinship with the insect.

He sticks out his index finger and lets the ladybird crawl onto his skin. “Who are you going with, Hazza?” Zayn suddenly asks, finally looking up from the pages of his book.

“Hannah asked me to go with her this morning,” he replies, still completely focused on the faint trail of tickles the ladybug leaves on the length of his index finger.

“And?” Liam urges.

Harry shrugs. “I said okay.” Hannah is nice, and she’s pretty as well. Harry feels guilty for saying yes to her, though. She probably hopes for a kiss or for him to be her boyfriend, or something like that. He wishes he could, he really does. And the problem isn’t that he doesn’t like girls, he does. No, the problem is that he could never love anyone who isn’t Louis. Louis takes up all the space in his heart and blocks it for anyone else. Harry tried so many times to push him to the side, to let another person take that spot instead, but it didn’t work. So instead, he just tried to pretend he wasn’t there, until today. Today, he realized that Louis was in his heart, always.

Louis suddenly and abruptly rises to his feet. “Fine, I’ll ask Eleanor now.” He adjusts his fringe and quickly crosses the lawn to the tables next to the cafeteria where Eleanor is sitting with her friends, laughing too loudly at something one of them said. Her head is thrown back, her long brown hair spilling over her back.

They all watch as Eleanor turns around to Louis, pretending that she didn’t see him before. Her mouth forms a surprised ‘O’ and she starts giggling behind her hand. They all slightly lean forward as Louis starts saying something to her. Even Zayn is watching, book forgotten in his lap.

Harry feels the jealousy nibbling in his stomach, pricking and stinging, making its way through his veins and to his heart. The ladybug spreads its wings and leaves the spot on Harry’s finger.

They can’t see the expression on Louis’s face, his back facing them. Eleanor smiles and nods at her table, then Louis turns around again and walks back to them. “Alright. I have a date for prom.”

The other’s start cheering and clap him on the back as Louis sits down again. Harry can see Eleanor and her friends giggle and shriek as well at their table. Harry forces his lips into a smile that feels like someone stitched it onto his skin. “Congratulations.”

Louis takes another cherry and starts eating it, expression unbothered. The gong sounds from the building, signaling the start of the next lesson. They all stand up and brush the scattered bits of grass off their clothes.

“Race ya!” Niall yells, and starts sprinting across the lawn, just like every day. Louis and Liam follow close on Niall’s tracks, Zayn falling a bit behind because of the big books in his arms.

Normally, Harry would race behind them, trying to trip Louis, and then Louis would start tickling him, until they both tumbled to the ground in a mess of limbs and breathless giggles. But not today. Today, Harry just slowly wanders after them, the weight of his broken, hopelessly-in-love-with-Louis-Tomlinson heart weighing him down like a brick on his shoulders.

-

It’s the night of prom and Harry’s mother insists on making a photoshoot out of the whole goddamn affair. She takes picture after picture while Hannah happily smiles into the camera lense, lips shiny with pink gloss, one arm hooked around Harry’s shoulders while Harry tries not to flinch at each flash of the camera.

He wonders what Louis is doing right now. Probably on his way to Eleanor’s house, slender fingers holding a cummerbund matching his tie and her dress… Harry doesn’t want to think about it. He tries to shove all the thoughts into a drawer in his brain and lock it, but they just keep slipping into his mind, no matter what he does. These unwanted, horrible, painful thoughts about sweet, funny Louis. His Lou.

His mother seems to have finally taken enough pictures, promising Hannah to send them all to her mother to give to her. Hannah thanks her, and then they both turn their head to Harry, looking maybe a bit expectant. Harry doesn’t know what they are expectant about.

His mother starts laughing and reaches out both hands to pinch his cheeks. “Don’t worry about him, Hannah, he’s just nervous,” she says with a smile.

Harry ducks away from her pinching fingers and rolls his eyes. “Mum,” he mumbles, which apparently is very funny because his mother, Hannah, and his sister Gemma who’s standing on the stairwell, commentating every picture taken by his mom, all start laughing. Good to know he’s amusing.

His sister leans over the stair railing to ruffle his hair. “A real charmer, eh?” she says. “I’m sure he’ll break a lot of hearts with those perfectly eloquent words of his, don’t you think?” She throws her head back laughing, and then walks back up the stairs to her room, throwing one last “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, little brother,” over her shoulder, followed by a middle-finger.

His mother throws a look at the clock on the wall, and then says, “Oh god, we need to hurry! Don’t want you to be late to prom, right?” _No, of course we wouldn’t want that_ , Harry thinks. Just like he doesn’t want to be driven to prom by his mom. It’s embarrassing and sort of mortifying, really. But that’s what happens if you’re only sixteen and don’t have your driver’s license yet and you also live in a small town where the bus only deigns to show up every hour or so.

Normally, Louis drives them around. He got his license a few months ago, and for the first few weeks he wouldn’t stop driving. He randomly showed up at Harry’s house and demand he tell him somewhere to go. He told all of them to get in the car, we’re going on a road trip, just so he could drive. The “road-trip” ended up being a journey to the next shopping center where they ate ice-cream and bought cheap beer. It had taken a lot of effort to get a reluctant Louis out of his used, run-down, red car, he had lovingly named Kevin.

Louis driving (naturally) also meant Louis being in charge of the music which led to all of them horribly chanting along to endless Green day and Oasis tracks, the summer wind blowing through the open windows ruffling their hair and whiffing away all their problems and thoughts. Harry could use one of those car rides right now; badly needed the wind to whiff away his thoughts about Louis.

Which obviously doesn't work since he is thinking about him right now, sitting in his mom’s backseat with hers and Hannah’s merry chatter filling the air.  
Shania Twain’s voice comes quietly from the loudspeakers, accentuating his mum’s and Hanna’s conversation.

“Okay, we’re here,” his mum announces after a while and halts the car in front of the school. There are already drops of students on the front lawn, slowly starting to drip into the building. Harry’s mum turns around, her hand gripping the headrest of the seat next to her. She grins brightly. “Have fun, you two.”

“Thanks, mum,” Harry says and opens the door on his side, holding it open for Hannah to get out. They wave his mum one last time, before she sets the car in motion again and drives down the street, headlights cutting through the grey air.

“Want to go inside?” Harry asks, and Hannah nods and smiles. They make their way inside with the other students and into the gymnasium which is decorated with hundreds of streamers and balloons, some loud pop song booming from the speakers. The two of them stand at the wall in awkward silence, neither of them knowing what to do.

But as always, leave it to Niall Horan to save you from an awkward encounter. Nothing could ever be awkward with Niall around. Harry feels someone clapping on his shoulder and turns around, grateful. “Hey, Niall!” he says. He looks over Niall’s shoulder to see Liam and Zayn with their dates behind him. And Louis.

Harry’s stomach flutters at the sight of him, dressed in a black suit with a baby blue tie matching the color of his eyes. And the color of Eleanor’s dress. The butterflies in Harry’s stomach turn to stone at the sight of them together. He swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. Eleanor giggles at something Louis says to her.

“Do you want to dance?” he blurts, turning to Hannah.

“I’d love to,” she says with a wide smile and takes his hand, pulling him to the dance floor.

For the first few songs, everything goes well; the songs that are played quick and loud. Harry has never been a particularly good dancer, but it doesn’t matter all that much because, as he’s looking around at all the other students, he quickly realizes that none of them are. So they jump around together and Hannah laughs about things he does and says and… it feels nice. It actually really feels nice. He still has to force himself to not turn around and look for Louis; see what he’s doing. No. He won’t do that. And after a while, it actually becomes simpler and he can bring his mind to the silly dancing.

Just as he can feel a layer of sweat on the back of his neck and his limbs start growing tired, a slow song comes on and the circles of dancers split into pairs, into two people swaying with the melody. The lights also become softer and darker, dunking the room in a gloomy dim only split by a few scattered spolights. There’s a mirror ball above their heads, slowly spinning with the bodies under it, making small white spots dance on their skin and the empty patches of gym floor.

As Harry puts his arms awkwardly around Hannah and she rests her temple against his shoulder, a smile on her face, Harry can’t help but stare at the floor and think about all the sweaty bodies that usually work out on it or fall down, struck by a vicious dodge ball. As he lifts his eyes again slowly, he sees Louis across the dance floor. Eleanor is softly resting her chin on his shoulder and the lights make his hair look like a bluish halo. It sends sparks of electricity along Harry’s veins and he feels like a rope is slowly pulling him towards Louis, but the stone butterflies in his stomach are too heavy than to do anything but regard him through the paper streamers.

The thing is, Louis doesn’t look happy. Maybe Harry is just imagining what he wants to see, but he’s known Louis for too long. He knows his best friend better than he knows himself. He knows all of Louis’ different smiles, knows the songs he likes and doesn’t like, knows that you should never wake him up early in the morning or Louis will be grumpy all day, knows Louis’ favorite ice cream flavor (mint chocolate chip) and his utter hatred for baked beans. And so he also knows that there is something wrong in his expression now. Harry feels the all-consuming urge to walk up to him.

He imagines Louis being the one he’s dancing with now, not Hannah. But he doesn’t. He rips his eyes away from the spellbinding sight; away from the white spots dancing on Louis’ brown hair, away from his and Eleanor’s matching blue outfits.

But he still sees how Eleanor slowly peels back from Louis’ shoulder and instead brings her mouth closer to him, until she’s kissing him, slowly at first and then deeper. He also sees how Louis kisses her back, his eyes closed.

Harry’s heart feels like an popping balloon filled with his love for Louis, spraying it everywhere; all over his innards and body and soul. His eyes start stinging and he can feel his lips and chin quivering. He feels ashamed because of it, embarrassed because he might start crying like a five-year-old boy. The thought makes him even sadder, but in an angry way. He fixes his gaze on a spot of the floor, willing himself to not cry, not shed a single tear.

When the last tones of the slow song finally give way to another happy dance song, the floor has started to blur in front of his eyes. “Sorry,” he says to Hanna over the music and already turns to the door. “I’ll be right back.” He mumbles something about having to go for a wee and then makes his way past the dancing teenagers, flitting through small gaps of bodies, ducking under raised arms, all the while trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes and heart. Trying to push away the picture of Louis kissing Eleanor, their lips locked; their eyes closed.

He squints his eyes closed. When he opens them again, he sees Zayn excitedly waving him from where he’s dancing with Liam and Niall in a silly circle, motioning him to come over. Harry can’t see Louis anywhere, doesn’t want to. But he notes that Eleanor has joined a group of her friends in their dance. He doesn’t want to think about it.

Pushing open the gym door, he enters the peaceful quiet of the hallway, the sound of the music stifled and vague once the door falls closed behind him. There are a few crying girls sitting on the floor and a group of students drinking from a small, silver flask. He makes his way past them to the toilets.

The room is empty, the red painted doors to the stalls closed. He stands at the tabs and looks at his own reflection in the mirror. His eyes look a bit red, but otherwise nothing hints to his world having collided just a few minutes ago.

When he sprays his face with a bit of ice-cold water, he hears the sound. It’s a small sniffling, infinitely quiet and nearly inaudible, had Harry not been so familiar with the sound of it. Hot days on the playground when he scraped his knee on the concrete; third grade when Mrs. Flack gave him a D on his cap about dinosaurs because “it wasn’t tidy enough and dragons don’t count as dinosaurs”; eighth grade when his mother gave birth to his twin siblings and there were complication with the C-section.

Slowly, Harry walks up to the middle stall and puts his hand on the knob. “Louis?” he asks.

“Go away, Harry,” comes the reply after a few seconds. His voice has that thick tone that happens after someone has been crying a lot.

“No. I won’t. Can you let me in?”

For one minute nothing happens, then the door slowly swings open, pushed by Louis’ extended foot. Harry sees that he’s wearing vans, even at prom. The sight nearly makes Harry smile. He’s also not wearing any socks, he now notices. Louis has always hated socks. Harry remembers him running around the house when he was five years old, yelling “No, I won’t wear socks, mummy! This is child abuse! My feet don’t belong in a cage- they are much too mellifluous for socks! No mummy, no, nooooooo!” Harry and Louis’ mum, Jay, just stood there, trying to hold back their laughter.

Louis has also taken off his blue tie which is now lying on the ground next to the closed toilet seat he is sitting on. Harry can clearly see that Louis’s been crying. His eyes are red and blotchy.

Without saying anything, he sits down on the stall floor and leans against the scribbled wall, his head resting right next to a very unflattering caricature of the school principal.

He stares at the other wall, focusing on a heart drawn with sharpie. _N + G_ equals heart. Harry wants to get out a sharpie as well and write something equally as mature, like ' _Harry hearts Louis'_ or ' _Harry and Louis, sitting in a bathroom stall,_ K-I-S-S-I-N-G'.

“What’s wrong, Lou?” His voice sounds weaker and quieter than he intended. He looks up at his friend who has his head leaned back against the flush, leading to a small gurgle.

“I think there’s something wrong with me, Hazza,” Louis quietly says, so quiet Harry’s not sure if he hears him correctly.

“What do you mean?” Harry inquires, brows furrowed.

Louis closes his eyes. Harry can’t stand seeing him like this; seeing him this sad. It doesn’t fit. Louis is the loud, bossy, flamboyant boy who makes everyone around him laugh and lights up the sky with his smile. Seeing him cry feels wrong. Harry would do anything to make it stop. He has to ball his hands into loose fists to resist the urge of throwing his arms around his friend, maybe kissing away his tears. He may start crying as well.

“I kissed Eleanor,” Louis says, voice flat.

Oh. So that’s what this is about. Great. But why is he crying then? Harry feels like one single butterflies awakens in his chest again as the words start to sink in. Reawakening hope, maybe.

“Yeah, I saw you two,” he replies.

Louis opens his eyes again but doesn’t look at Harry. “She’s really pretty, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, yeah, she is…”

“Why didn’t I like kissing her, then? Every guy at this school would love to date her. But it’s just… I don’t. And I really don’t know why. So, maybe there’s something wrong with me.” He cuts a short glance in Harry’s direction, then quickly looks away again. “I don’t think I’m in love with her. I don’t think I can be.”

The butterfly makes an exited somersault in Harry’s chest and then a second one joins it.  
Because maybe, just maybe…

When Louis doesn’t continue, Harry lifts his hand and gently rests it around Louis’ ankle. “Louis, I want you to know that there’s nothing wrong with you. Absolutely nothing.” He gives the ankle a gentle squeeze to emphasize his point. “You’re Louis Tomlinson. Everyone loves you, you can always make everyone laugh,” He swallows before continuing, casting his eyes to the tiled bathroom floor, “You’re perfect, Louis.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, before Louis sniffs a bit and wipes the rest of his tears away with the sleeve of his black suit, then gives Harry a small smile. “Thanks, Hazza. But I was just being stupid. Forget I said anything.” With that, he unfolds from the toilet seat and stands up. The butterflies quickly drop back to the ground of Harry’s stomach.

He stays on the floor for a few heartbeats longer before he also scrambles to his feet again and follows Louis back into the school hallway where the muffled sounds of the music fill the air.

“Want to go back inside?” Louis asks him. No, Harry doesn’t. He wants Louis to take his hand and pull him out of here. Maybe to his used, run-down car, where they would get inside and start driving to some unknown destination. Go nowhere and at the same time everywhere, with the windows rolled down and music drifting through the air, getting entangled in their wind-ruffled hair. And then they would kiss and it would feel like freedom and childhood and growing up and shared memories and everything that is sweet in the world. Or Louis would stop the car, hold out his hand with a smile, and ask, “Hey, Hazza. Wanna dance with me?” In his imagination, Harry takes his hand, palm against palm, fingers slotting into place like puzzle pieces. The thought of dancing with Louis sends an ache through his chest.

Instead, he just gives Louis, his Lou, a small smile and says, “Yeah, sure.”

And did Harry imagine it, or was there a glimmer of sadness in Louis’ eyes at those words. Disappointment, maybe? No, probably not.

They walk back to the gym door and pull it open, the music and smell of homorny and sweaty teenage bodies meeting them like a wall. As Harry watches Louis disappear in the sea of people again, he wishes they had never left that bathroom stall. That was a good place to spend eternity.

-

Harry’s lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The prom was three weeks ago and Louis’ words in that bathroom stall still echo through his head. _I think there’s something wrong with me, Hazza_. No matter how Harry turns the words in his head around again and again, he always comes to the same hopeful, maybe a bit devastated and wishful conclusion that Louis doesn’t love Eleanor, because maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t love girls.

The thing is, Louis never mentioned their talk on prom night again and has been dating Eleanor ever since that night, despite what he said to Harry. They kiss during lunch break, hold hands walking around the school, unaware of the thousands of needles Harry feels pricking his insides watching all of it, his broken heart dropping on the floor, remnants pooling around his sneaker-clad feet.

His phone buzzes on the covers next to him and he picks it up, seeing that he has three missed calls from Niall and one from Liam. Niall has also written him a text.

 _Harold, answer your phone, will ya?_ _R u going to the party at Stan’s tonight? Answer pls!_

Harry is about to text him back that he won’t go to the party because he has to stay at home and help his mother cook (which is maybe a tiny lie, but Harry just doesn’t feel like going tonight), when his phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a text from Louis. Harry feels his heartbeat quicken as he sees it.

_Coming to Stan’s party tonight, Hazza?_

Harry hesitates a second before answering, his fingers hovering above the phone screen.

_Nah, probably not. I’m a bit tired…_

Louis’s reply comes instantly.

_Come ooon, Harry, please? :( (I also promise to not throw up on your shorts tonight)_

Harry has to grin as he remembers the night Louis likes to call ‘the night-which-must-not-be-mentioned-again’ when he got so drunk he started singing karaoke to the Spice girls and then violently emptied his stomach on Harry’s shorts and feet as he tried pulling him off the stage and back home.

Before Harry can type out another text, the door to his room opens without warning and his sister comes in, flopping down on his desk chair. “Can’t you knock?,” Harry complains with a roll of his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

His sister drapes her arms over the chairs backrest and looks at him. “I want to know what’s going on with you.”

Harry shrugs, which is quite difficult while horizontal. “There’s nothing going on with me.”

“Bullshit. You always have that sad puppy look in your eyes and stare into the distance like some woman longingly waiting for her husband to return from world war II.”

Harry sighs and rolls his eyes again. “It’s nothing.”

Gemma’s face softens a bit as she starts speaking again. “Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But please do something about it, I really want to have my annoying little brother back. Not this sad creature living in our house for the last few weeks. But I think I know that look. Please, just tell him. If you really love him, then just fucking say it.”

Harry’s head shoots around. “How- how did you-?” he stammers. He hasn't officially told his family he's gay yet, but apparently he doesn't even have to.

Gemma raises one dark, groomed eyebrow. “I’m your sister, I know everything.”

Harry smiles at her, grateful. “Thanks, Gem. For being... you know... okay with it.”

Gemma gives back his smile. “Listen, please do it. I know you will risk heartbreak and rejection, but you still have to do it. Plus, if he really doesn’t like you, I’ll kick his dumb ass and he wasn’t worthy of you anyway. But if I know one thing for sure, it’s that you will never regret anything more than not telling someone when you love them. And believe me, regret is one of the worst feelings in this world.”

And as Harry glances to his phone laying on the edge of his bed, an idea slowly starts to form in his head. A terrible, stupid, probably destructive idea. But he knows that if he has to keep his feelings inside him for any longer, he might simply explode. A supernova of love for Louis Tomlinson.

He reaches for it and looks at Louis’ last message again. Gemma gets up from his desk chair and ruffles his dark curls before leaving his room. Harry starts typing his reply to Louis and Gemma pokes her head around the door again. “Just tell me if I know him.”

Harry rolls his eyes again but softly chuckles. “I thought I didn’t have to tell you.”

Gemma raises her hands. “Okay, fine, don’t tell me. I don’t care anyway.” She makes to turn around and leave again.

“It’s Louis,” Harry sighs and she stops, slowly turning around, smiling.

“Oh, trust me: I knew. I just wanted to hear it from you.”

Harry sits up. “What? How?”

“I told you, I’m your sister and know everything.”

“Hey, that’s no explanation! Gemma!” Harry calls after her, getting off his bed and leaning out the doorway, but she just walks into her room, blows him a kiss and closes the door.

Harry grabs his phone from the bed again and finally texts Louis back.

_Ok, I’ll come :) C u later!_

_-_

Harry can hear the music from all the way down the street. Teenagers are scattered over the small garden, drinking, throwing up, making out. Harry makes his way past them and enters the crowded house. He winds his way through the bodies, looking for his friends.

“Hey, Harry!” a voice shouts from across the room. Harry turns around and sees Liam waving him, Zayn standing next to him with a book clutched in his hands. Zayn hates parties. Liam probably had to drag him out of the house by his feet or take the book hostage until Zayn reluctantly agreed to come with him.

Harry walks up to them and shouts over the music, “Hey, do you know where Lou is?”

Liam and Zayn exchange a knowing look, their eyebrows raised in unison.

“What?” Harry asks. “What are those looks?”

“Nothing,” the both say at the same time and look at the floor.

Zayn looks up again. “Why do you want to see him?” he blurts.

Harry gives him a confused look. “Because we’re best friends and I need to tell him something.”

“What do you need to tell him?” Liam wants to know.

Now it’s Harry’s turn to look at his feet. “Nothing,” he mumbles, scraping the tip of his white converse along the floor.

Suddenly Niall appears at his side, slinging an arm around his neck. What did Harry say? Leave it to Niall Horan to save him from any awkward encounter. “You’re my hero, Niall Horan,” he says, grateful.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you really choose this night to finally confess your undying love to Louis?”

Okay. He takes it all back. May Niall Horan be damned.

Niall laughs as he sees the shocked expression on Harry’s face. “We do have eyes, you know?”

Harry can feel his cheeks burning red. Niall comfortingly pats his shoulder. “It’s fine, Harry. But I do have to say you have phenomenally bad timing.”

“Why?” Harry asks, looking up.

Without giving an answer, Zayn just points to somewhere behind Harry. Harry turns around and follows the direction of Zayn’s finger to the kitchen door. And there’s Louis, in a red and white striped shirt sitting at the kitchen counter with Stan, knocking back shot after shot. “Apparently him and Eleanor broke up for some reason and now he’s drinking himself half blind. This is going to end like the night-which-must-not-be-mentioned-again.”

“Why did he and Eleanor break up?” Harry urges, his eyes never leaving Louis who’s cackling about something Stan said. In that moment, it hits him so hard how much he actually loves this boy, he has to lean against Niall a bit just to stay vertical. The universe is good because he’s in it. Harry loves the hole in his jeans and the scab on his elbow and the crinkles by the corners of his eyes and the swift flick of his fingers when he pushes back his light brown fringe. And when Louis bites back a smile and his eyes turn to small crescents and he tightly presses his lips together to stop the laughter from erupting like he has done countless times before with Harry and is doing right now, dear god, that’s the most endearing thing in the world. Louis, his Lou.

The dimly lit, shining room; the sounds of drinking and chattering teenagers, fade away, becoming nothing but background to his smile.

“Don’t know,” Liam answers. “But maybe you should go up to him and ask. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Harry turns back to him and gives him an indignant look. “Does everyone know that?”

A beat of silence. Then all three of them shrug and nod.

“Do you think he knows as well?” Harry suddenly asks, going a little pale.

“Mate, I actually have no idea how that happened, but I really don’t think he does,” Niall says.

With a concerned look to the kitchen, Zayn suggests, “Maybe you should get him home now. I don’t know how many of those shots he can take before falling off the chair and bruising that bum he’s so fond of. And I guess he also won’t remember any of the sweet sentiments you’re planning to confess tonight, and that would be a shame.”  
Zayn’s probably right. He’s right most of the time. Maybe that’s from all the books and nerdy comics he practically breathes in.

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell him tonight after all,” Harry says, faltering, chewing on his bottom lip. “He’s just broken up with Eleanor and I would really like to keep this friendship for a bit longer before he can never look me in the eye again.”

Niall rolls his eyes and groans. He grips Harry’s shoulders and steers him through the knots of people, ignoring Harry’s sounds of protest and squirming. “Do it now or you’ll never do it, and I can’t live with your hopelessly-in-love puppy eyes a day longer, trust me. Besides, him breaking up with Eleanor is probably the best thing that could have happened to you. I mean, that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Judging by the fact that you almost chew through your lip when you see them together and buzz off faster than Zayn in the face of a crowd of people.”

They reach the kitchen and Niall gently pushes Harry through the door, following close behind him. When he spots them, Louis looks up from where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter, cheeks red and eyes a bit glassy. “Hello, my dearest friends,” he says in a loud voice, raising his glass to them. “Hazza! You came!”

Harry forces himself to a smile. “’Course I came. Even though it seems like you might be about to break your promise not to throw up on me.”

Louis shakes his head. “You know the rules. We don’t mention that night. And I’m not that drunk. Stan drank more than I did.”

Harry turns his head to see Stan’s head lying on the countertop, softly snoring. “I don’t think that says much.”

They stand in silence for a few heartbeats, before Niall pushes Harry slightly forward with his elbow, raising his brows in Louis’ direction. “Lou, I think we should go home now. We’ll take the bus.” He gently grabs Louis’ arm and pulls him off the chair. His skin is soft. So soft.

Harry doesn’t know how he’s ever supposed to let go again. Maybe he won’t.

Louis stumbles behind him as Harry drags him to the front door. They both wave Niall, Liam and Zayn good-bye, all their expressions a wide offering of emotions. Zayn looks grave and sort of scared, Liam looks like he doesn’t know whether to run up to them and gag them for their own good, and Niall simply looks happy, a wide grin on his beaming face.

Harry probably looks like he’s on the way to his own execution. But he has now decided on something. He won’t tell Louis- not tonight at least. Or any night after that. Alright, he has decided to never say it. And even though it sends an uncomfortable ache through his chest as he thinks about it, his friendship with Louis is too important to throw all of it away. Never saying that he loves him is better than Louis never being able to look him in the eye again; to see the expression on his face when he tries to let Harry down as gently a possible, telling him he doesn’t like him that way. No, he won’t tell him.

He always daydreamed about Louis telling him he loved him. In those dreams, Louis would look at him with sparkling eyes, and then he’d say it, simple and soft. “I love you, Harry. I always have.” And the sun would gleam on his wind-ruffled hair, and then it would start raining, pouring from the heavens and Harry would giggle and say, “Now kiss me, you fool!” And then Louis would grab him and-

“Hazza! Earth to Harry!” Harry jolts from his thoughts back to reality, seeing Louis waving a hand in front of his face.

“Where’d you wander off to this time?” Louis asks, walking down the street in the direction of the bus stop.

“Nowhere,” Harry mumbles, stumbling after him.

The warm golden lights of the streetlamps cut through the darkness, blurring a bit at the edges.

“Don’t say nowhere,” Louis says, halting in one of the circles of golden light. A few flies are buzzing in the island of luminance in the warm summer air. “Your mind is always somewhere. I don’t think you’ve ever actually spend an hour in the reality. So, where were you this time? The prince of an Empire who talks to birds? A member of a famous boy band?” Harry chuckles and joins Louis under the glow of the streetlamp. Louis doesn’t even seem that drunk anymore. Or maybe he never really was. Who really knows with this boy?

“Music?” Louis suggests, holding up his headphones. For as long as Harry can remember, him and Louis have always listened to music together, conjoined by the cords of their headphones. Harry takes one of the earbuds and places them in his ear, Louis doing the same. The soft and quiet tunes of Ray LaMontagne’s voice start drifting through his head, accentuating the chirping of crickets and the noise of an occasional car driving past.

 _Yes’n I try to ignore all this blood on the floor. It’s just the heart on my sleeve that keeps bleeding._ Indeed, Ray. Indeed.

They walk in silence for a while, their shoulders softly bumping into each other from time to time, sending electric buzzing feelings down Harry’s arm and into his veins. They both only hear the music in one ear and Harry thinks that maybe exactly this is love. Listening to music only on one ear, knowing that the other person is listening to the other half of a song only you two can hear. Not listening to a full song with two earbuds but sharing it with someone.

Huh. Interesting thought, that.

They reach the bus stop and lean against the glass wall, waiting until the bus eventually rolls down the street, halting with a loud screeching sound, steam puffing out from the sides. The doors swing open and the two enter the mostly empty bus. Only a few scattered people sit at different ends, not even cutting them a short glance. Harry and Louis sit down in the last row, their favorite spot. Harry leans his head against the window, watching as the bus starts rolling down the street, lamplights whizzing past.

The atmosphere in the bus feels thick and light all at one, the sort of mystic hanging in the air only illuminated spaces surrounded by night can have, when everything feels quiet and peaceful but at the same time heady and exciting.

Louis puts his feet up on the seat before him, his eyes just barely closed. His skin is tan and smooth, his lips and cheeks pink, the red and blue lights outside the window making a few colorful spots dance on them.

He glances up at Harry through his long dark eyelashes and smiles. Oh oh. It’s The smile. The smile that’s often broken out to great affect at family parties. The smile that wins him extra time before bed, an extra piece of cake, extra everything he wants. Adults are helpless to resist the smile. Everyone is. Butter melts. Birds sing. Flowers blossom. People slip on the molten butter. Oh oh, indeed.

“What?” Harry asks, suspicious, raising an eyebrow. Ray LaMontange’s voice is singing his last few notes into his ear as Louis lolls on the seat and yawns.

_And burn in my skin, yes I will stand here, and burn in my skin._

That man really knows how Harry’s feeling right now as Louis reaches up a hand to tug on one of his curls. “I just had an idea.”

“Oh god.”

Louis pinches his arm and smiles again. “I don’t think we should go home just yet.”

Harry groans. “Well, I think you’re drunk and an idiot, and that you should definitely go home and get some sleep.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Louis protests to which Harry only narrows his eyes and presses his lips together. “Haaaaarrryy…,” Louis quietly sing-songs, softly kicking his hip with the tip of his shoe. “Come on, it’s been a while since we’ve done something together, just the two of us. Or done something together period.”  
Harry looks down at his hands and avoids Louis’ eyes as he continues talking. “That’s why I wanted you to come to the party tonight to begin with. To spend some time with you.”

And it’s true, Harry’s been avoiding Louis these last few months, because… Well. “That’s not my fault, though. You’ve been spending all your time with Eleanor. I didn’t want to disturb you guys.” He stubbornly stares out the bus window at the dark street, so he doesn’t see Louis’ reaction but he can hear him sigh.

“Well, that’s over now.”

Harry risks a brief glance in his direction. “Yeah, I heard about that. What happened?”

Louis’ smile is gone now, replaced by a small frown on his lips. “Nothing.”

“Did you break up with her or the other way around?”

A beat of silence. “She broke up with me.” Oh.

“Why?”

Louis shrugs. “Because.”

Harry hesitates before he says his next words. “Did it have anything to do with prom night?”

He can immediately feel how invisible walls enclose around his friend, shielding him from his surroundings. And that hurts, because before, those walls have never locked out Harry. He’s always been inside of them, seeing everything Louis wouldn’t show to the rest of the world.

“No.” Now it’s Louis’ turn to look out the window. They don’t speak for a few moments, then Louis turns to Harry again, expression softer. “So, what do you say? You, me and a little adventure?”

“Where?”

At that, Louis only raises his eyebrows and smiles one of his smiles again, one of those distinctly Louis smiles. And as afore mentioned, no one could resist one of those smiles. “A little trip into the past, maybe?” Louis says before abruptly jumping off his seat and standing in front of the doors as the bus comes to a halt and they open. Harry follows him and leaves the bus, the soles of his white converse hitting with a soft thunk.

Louis is already marching down the familiar street backwards, regarding Harry as he slowly nears a small iron gate Harry is all too familiar with. They are just around the corner from Louis’ house, Harry can even see the windows from where he is standing. There is still light in one of the rooms, probably Jay and Dan, her boyfriend, still watching telly.

Harry smiles and watches as Louis opens the small gate and steps on the sand behind. The weak moon crescent barely illuminates the playground, but it’s enough for the metal of the slide to glow a bit. This is where he and Louis spent most of their childhood, hours and hours of hanging off the climbing frame, betting who could swing higher while pretending to be a bird in flight, getting dizzy on the roundabout. One time, Louis pushed the roundabout so hard they both nearly threw up when it finally slowed down again.

Seeing Louis stand on the ground now sort of sends a strange feeling down Harry’s chest, all grown up in front of the familiar backdrop, yet still the same old Lou. Everything completely different but still the same, all at once. A very strange feeling.

Louis leans his head back and lets out a peal of laughter as he climbs up the ladder to the top of the slide, careful not to hit his head on the iron bar. Harry watches as Louis slowly slides down the slope, his arms raised above his head, unable to contain the smile blooming on his face.

Louis’ way down the slide is slow and piecemeal, Louis having to jiggle with his bum to make progress. When his feet finally hit the gravel again, Harry is laughing so much there are tears in his eyes and he’s clapping his hands like Louis just finished an Olympic discipline with flying colours.

Louis is laughing, too, as he gives a small bow and flick of his hand, rubbing his bum with the other one. “Graceful as ever, I know,” he says. Then, “My bum is burning like shit now,” and they both start laughing even harder.

Harry is sure their laughter can be heard all around the neighbourhood, even in Louis’ living room, Jay and Dan furrowing their brows as they hear the familiar sound drifting in through the window.

“I remember that working a lot more smoothly in former times,” Louis declares as their laughter slowly ebbs off.

“What are you talking about? I’ve never seen anything more graceful in my whole life,” Harry gives back to which Louis shoots him a dirty look.

“I’d like to see you do better, Harry.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, challenging. “Oh, I will. Having a basically non-existent bum can also have its advantages.”

Louis wiggles his behind in his direction and then sits down on one of the swings, watching as Harry climbs the few bars of the ladder. He makes an inviting gesture with the hand. “It’s all yours.”

Harry doesn’t do much better than Louis. He slowly creeps down the slide, his shoes making a screeching sound on the metal. Louis nearly pisses himself laughing as he watches Harry from the swing set, his hands covering his mouth, his eyes the same crescent shape as the moon above their heads.

“Ah, to feel young again,” Harry sighs when his feet finally hit the ground and he joins Louis at the swing set, sitting down next to him.

For a while they sit quietly as their laughter slowly attenuates in the air.

“Why did you want to come here tonight?” Harry asks, his feet pawing in the sand underneath him, just barely swinging back and forth.

Louis shrugs. “Don’t know. I just don’t ever want to grow up. I want to stay young forever.”

Harry smirks. “Trust me, Lou, you don’t have to be scared of growing up. You’ll be young and immature till the day Zayn decides to throw a party or Niall will admit he’s into Shawn. Or maybe until the sun burns the earth. You’re like Peter Pan, never growing up.”

Louis quietly smiles and points at the ground. “But I luckily still have a shadow. Besides, that’s not true. I’m very grown up, sadly.”

Harry huffs a short laugh. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You still see how far you can spit cherry stones, you still refuse to wear socks, you still draw smiley faces on all of your stuff, you still bluster down slides and you still eat at least one lollipop per day.”

“Lollipops are the only food that matters.”

“Whatever you say.”

Louis’ gaze is lowered to the ground and there’s this inexplicable heaviness about him that Harry just can’t put his finger on. “Please tell me what’s going on, Louis,” he murmurs and stops the slow back-and-forth-swinging. “You never tell me anything anymore. Is it because of Eleanor, is something wrong with Jay- your sisters? Is it because of me? Did… did I do something wrong?”

At that, Louis just shakes his head, lips tightly pressed together. He looks nearly as lost as he did in the toilet stall. He head is hanging low and it makes him look unbearably fragile and brittle. It’s incredible how fast the atmosphere has changed in just a few seconds, now they are back to the sad Louis who is so unfamiliar to Harry.

He doesn’t know what to do, hates that he has to guess what is wrong. Before, he has always known. He isn’t supposed to guess- he’s supposed to know. They are two halves of the same self, best friends, partners in crime, but now- Now it feels like Louis is slowly slipping through his fingers and Harry doesn’t know what to do to stop it or what even caused it. And he knows that if he tells Louis what he actually planned to tell him tonight, he will lose him completely.

Gemma and Niall’s words echo in his mind. _Tell him. Just tell him._ Oh, fuck it. He’ll burst if the words don’t leave his mouth now, they would rot inside of him and turn foul.

He takes a breath, the three words, three syllables, the eight letters already posed on his tongue, ready to roll of and slip into the air between them-

Louis abruptly stands up and brushes a bit of dirt of his trousers and white-red shirt. “Alright, we can go now if you want to. I can go home alone, I’m sure you have better things to do. And I’m really not drunk. Not anymore.”

Harry is so taken aback, it takes him a few moments before he can form a response. “No- No, I’ll go home with you. I want to say hi to Jay…”

Louis shrugs. “Okay, if it’s fine with you.”

Harry stands up and follows Louis who is leaving the playground. He looks back at the playground, though, swings softly swaying in the light breeze, still in motion from their easy rocking. Sounds of childish laughter drift through the air, memories manifesting again after all this time. Or maybe the laughter never left, contained in the spaces connected to them like a magic lamp. He isn’t making any sense, so he quickens his paces to catch up with Louis, their shoulders brushing just barely.

They walk the short way to Louis’ house in silence, the sound of their soles on the pavement the only thing to be heard. When they reach the front door of Louis’ small family home, he fishes for the key in the pocket of his trousers and quietly opens the door, careful not to push it open too quickly. They both know that when you open the door too fast, it makes a creaking sound and you risk Jay hearing you. It’s a mistake they have already made too many times, costing them a lot of grounding. Jay probably knows Louis is out tonight, but they still tip toe over the threshold. Force of habit.

The entire house is already dark, the doors to Louis’ sisters’ rooms closed. The only light source is the light spilling though the slightly ajar living room door, soft music coming with it, accentuated by Jay’s giggles and Dan’s quiet laugh. Harry immediately has to smile at the sound of it; hearing Jay so happy. She wasn’t for a very long time, and there’s no one in this world Harry wishes more happiness to than her, no one more deserving of it.

“Alright, I should go now,” Harry whispers, scared of waking one of Louis’ sisters. He gives Louis a smile and turns to leave, but before he can open the door again, Louis’ hand is on his arm, stopping him.

“Wait,” he says. “Can you stay a bit longer?”

Harry looks at his friend, the long eyelashes, red lips matching his shirt; tanned skin; pleading, sad eyes. He looks like the Louis he’s known all his life; knows better than he knows himself, but the expression on his face, the sad glimmer in his eyes are entirely unfamiliar to him.

What happened and how could Harry not notice it happening? This was supposed to be the night he finally told Louis how he feels about him, would have let all those thoughts and emotions locked inside him finally spill out. But now- It’s pretty clear what Louis needs right now is a friend; his best friend, and Harry has never been able to deny Louis anything. Sigh, he’s so pathetic. But he doesn’t even mind all that much.

They quietly walk up the stairs, avoiding the steps they already know will creak and wake up the others. Louis opens the door to his room, the smallest one of the house even though he’s the oldest, but Harry has always loved the room. The smallness makes it comfortable, band posters and pictures of Louis with his family and friends covering the walls. Pictures of Louis with Liam, with, Zayn, with Niall- and with Harry. There are a lot of those.

Above Louis’ mess of a desk hangs a small framed picture of the two of them in summer, both in trunks, ice creams in their dirty hands, grins so wide all their teeth gaps are on show. Back then, Harry had gold blond hair and Louis a bowl cut he still complains at his mom for, asking her how she could ever have let her son go through that, how she could have let that happen. Harry’s always found the bowl cut very charming and sweet. Louis just rolls his eyes whenever he says that, hiding a smile.

Louis sees Harry regarding the pictures on the walls as if he’s seeing them for the first time and stands next to him. Next to the photo of them eating ice cream and grinning is one that shows them with Liam, Niall and Zayn sitting on this houses roof. It’s their spot, always has been. Niall was the one to discover it, climbing out the window of Louis’ room while playing hide and seek at Louis’ seventh birthday party. No one could find him until Harry finally looked in the garden where he saw Niall sitting on the snowy roof, cheeks red with cold, smugly grinning with chattering teeth. Since then, it’s been their spot. The spot where they talk, laugh and are just stupid teenagers in general.

The photo was taken by Zayn while Louis tried to snag the camera away from him which is why it’s a bit blurry, but you can still clearly see Harry and Niall brightly laughing, Louis’ fingers reaching for the camera, his mouth slightly opened in complaint and Liam, just sitting there like a lost but happy puppy. Harry loves the photo.

“Wanna go up?” Louis asks, the quiet words echoing loud in the room.

“Sure,” Harry replies. There’s music drifting up from downstairs now, Jay and Dan probably dancing in the living room. Louis swings his leg over the window sill and Harry watches him disappear, bum then legs then shoes.

Harry follows him and hoists himself on the small, flat space above the window with a great view over their tiny, sleepy small town. One of the best things about living in a small town is that you can actually see the stars at night, the canopy of scattered white dots stretching above their heads.

Louis is already sitting, his legs pulled up to his chest. The music quietly dances in the air, making its way down the corridor, up the stairs, through the window and into the space beyond. Harry lowers himself down next to Louis and they sit in silence for a few minutes. Harry knows he should probably say something, ask Louis about this night, this month. What changed. But before he can offer anything up, Louis starts speaking. “Hazza?”

“Mmh?”

“I’m sorry.”

Harry turns his head to look at Louis’ profile, silhouetted against the dark. The line of his nose, his chin, his forehead, his eyelashes, his lips. It’s mesmerizing. Harry furrows his brows, confused. “For what?”

“For everything.”

“For what everything?”

“What I’m about to do.”

“Well, what are you about to do?”

“Possibly ruin everything and then hate myself for it.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say; a feeling he’s never felt with Louis before. But he doesn’t have to, because before he can reply, Louis starts speaking again. “Eleanor broke up with me, not the other way around. She said I don’t really love her, that she’s tired of trying to make me love her even when she knows it’s useless. I told her that’s bullshit, that I really liked her, but then I realized something: She’s right. I don’t like her; I never have.”

He takes a deep, shaky breath before continuing and Harry can see him kneading his palms, almost as if he’s nervous. “Harry, I don’t like girls. I’m gay.” He looks up at him, so much in those baby blue eyes it’s too much for Harry to take in. Because… what. Louis. Gay. Louis not with Eleanor anymore.

He can feel those butterflies awakening in his stomach again, heavy and light all at once. Hope. “Harry? Could you please say something?”

Harry doesn’t, though. Instead, he just tentatively reaches out and slips his fingers into Louis’, his heart thudding a few beats. Louis looks down at their entwined hands and smiles a bit. And to his complete shock, what Louis just said doesn’t feel all that surprising. Maybe, deep down, he’s always known just like he’s always known he was in love with him. “It’s fine, Louis. Me too.”

Louis looks up at that and smiles. He’s probably thinking the same thing as Harry. He looks relieved, like someone just took a weight off his shoulders. “I’m still sorry, though. For what I’m about to say.” Harry squeezes Louis’ fingers a bit, reassuring him.

Louis smiles and then starts speaking. “Alright. So, I was in French lesson the other day and then I heard something that really made me think. As you know, I’m not great at French- I’m shit, actually. Even though I still think Madame Chapin has a personal vendetta against me. That woman detests me, I’m telling you. Elle deteste moi. Elle me deteste? Whatever. Anyway, I was sitting in French lesson and wasn’t paying attention, but then I picked something up and I couldn’t stop thinking about it ever since. So, apparently there’s this expression in French: _Coup der foudre_. And the thing is, it means love at first sight. Seeing someone for the very first time and already knowing: That’s the one. Him. That’s the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. But the literal meaning of the phrase is ‘to be struck by lightning’. And it’s not like I like French lessons or Madame Chapin or anything now, but that just really stuck with me. Because… well, now I realized that I was struck by lightning when I first saw you, even if I only found out about it years later. But when I first saw you, I knew you would be my best friend. And I was right. You’re my best friend, Harry, the best friend I’ve ever had or probably will ever have which is why I’m so sorry about what I’m about to say. But I have to say it...: I’m in love with you, Haz. From the first moment I saw you, chewing on your bottom lip, hands folded behind your back, curls falling in your eyes; I knew. That’s the one. Him. I knew you’d be my best friend, and now, years later, I know that you’re so much more than that. You’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, the person I’d stand on the front lawn for, holding a stereo over my head; the person I would let choose the songs in the car; the one I know I never want to disappoint; the one that makes me want to be a better person; the person I’d make stupid, corny love declarations on a rooftop at night for, making myself a complete fool in the process.” He shrugs. “But what am I supposed to do? I love you, Harry. And I have to tell you. I was struck by lightning years ago and now I finally admit to it. So, if you don’t want to be friend anymore or whatever, if you think it’s awkward, I totally get that. I wouldn’t be mad, I promise. But I would still have to change my name and move to another country. Maybe the north pole, hang out with a few penguins.”

Harry swallows. “There are no penguins in the north pole, Lou.”

Louis looks up, completely flabbergasted. “Are you kidding me right now?! That’s what you have to say about this? That there are no fucking penguins in the north pole?!” He laughs incredulously. “I’m about to throw you off this fucking roof, Hazza.” He gives Harry’s shoulder a soft smack, but Harry gently catches his wrist and looks him in the eyes.

Louis smiles back, and it’s the kind of smile you give to someone who can make you want to throttle them and kiss them at the same time. Harry chooses the latter option.

As he nears his face to Louis’ in a smooth motion, the butterflies in his stomach are doing somersaults, fluttering their wings so hard and excitedly, they might just make Harry take off and drift away into space. Maybe he already is floating somewhere near Jupiter and Saturn in a sea of stars. It’s a likely possibility.

He has kissed boys before; his first one was at a party in a closet (hah. Ironic, that.) The boy was the son of strictly catholic parents and he was so afraid of people seeing them together, it made Harry feel paranoid as well. It made it feel like what they were doing was somehow shameful, something that boys shouldn’t do. Harry hated that feeling. But there is no shame in Louis’ kiss; just a sweetness that makes Harry’s stomach fluttery and his head as buzzy as champagne.

Soft lips, soft skin, soft sighs, soft world. Soft, beautiful world.

It’s all he’s ever wanted and dreamed of, but better, because this is the real thing. The kiss by Louis Tomlinson he’s been waiting for since he first saw him. Louis parts their lips for a second, catching his breath and they both start giggling like little boys. Well, they are little boys.

“Sooo… does that mean I don’t have to flee the country and change my name?” Louis asks, biting on his swollen red lips and holding back a grin.

“Please don’t,” Harry replies and gives him another short peck on the lips. “I’d miss you way too much. I’ve never learnt to live without you and I don’t want to. It’s you and me forever, remember?”

Smiling in that twinkly way that made everything seem like a grand adventure, the smile that was just so typically Louis, he stretches out his hand. “Hey, Haz?”

“Hey Lou?”

“Wanna dance with me?” Harry beams back at him. Louis, his sweet Lou. He reaches out and takes his hand, letting Louis slowly pull him to his feet. The soft music coming from the open window below them encases them in a soft atmosphere, creating their own little pocket universe. Careless whisper. Harry loves this song and the fact that it’s the one accompanying his and Louis’ dance makes him love it even more.

_So I’m never gonna dance again the way I danced with you…_

As the trumpets start playing, it feels like a movie ending. The two star-crossed lovers have finally found each other and are now standing on a rooftop at night, slow dancing to a great song, then they start kissing again, the moon and stars watching… It’s the part of the movie where Louis pretends to throw up and complains how horribly cheesy it is but secretly wipes a tear out the corner of his eyes while Harry is shedding big, unapologetic tears next to him, happy and content and with the wish to experience that sort of love as well. Well, he does now. Actually, always did. Right there next to him, nagging that he’s hungry and how bad the movie was, all the while letting Harry snot all over his shirt while rubbing his back and fondly smiling down at him. Always next to him. Always there for him. Louis, his Lou.

And now this is it, the moment the camera starts zooming away, showing the two boys kissing on the roof, the playground they used to play on visible in the distance, their home all around and next to them. Now the screen would probably slowly fade to black, leaving it to the viewer’s imagination what happens next. But to Harry, the colour doesn’t fade, there are no credits rolling in his vision. To Harry, the movie doesn’t stop, never will.

“Hey, Lou?”

“Hey, Hazza?”

“Do you think this is the happy ending?”

Louis smiles up at him again. It’s The smile, the grand adventures of a lifetime flashing in his eyes and teeth. “I think there are a lot of happy endings and this is definitely one of them. And I know that most of mine so far have been with you and all the other ones still to come will be with you, too.”

Harry may have just been struck by lightning again. 


End file.
